


My Modesty

by kaitlynsmth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Homophobia, Kinda, Running Away, homophobic parents, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlynsmth/pseuds/kaitlynsmth
Summary: in which two girls love each other too much to think of the consequences of running away.orwhat to do when the girl you love has assholes for parents





	My Modesty

**Author's Note:**

> i have three tumblrs : pork-cutlet-gays, gaytway and pale-as-suga

She’s driving; one hand on the steering wheel and the one hand in mine. Her eyes are fixed on the road and she probably thinks mine are too, but they’re not. All I can see is her. The way she clicks her tongue whenever we pass a gas station with overpriced fuel. The way she sings along to songs she’s never heard before. All I can see is her perfectly rounded face, freckles dotted across her soft features.

We stop at a red light and she looks at me like there’s something about me worth looking at. Like my face isn’t boring and plain and everything I wish it wasn’t; fat and square and covered with acne.

As she sighs, she squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. I mutter. “Are you sure about this, Moddie?” my voice is slow, hesitant. “We can turn back. If you want.”

She shakes her head. She starts driving when the light turns green and her eyes sparkle as she turns her gaze to the road. “Why do you call me that?” She frowns. Her grip on my hand falters. “You know I hate when you call me that.” She’s avoiding my question.

“Modesty sounds way too... I don’t know... Christian.”

She snorts, but not in an ugly way. “That’s because it is, dumbass.” She starts muttering the words to a song on the radio and I can tell she’s never heard it before; she’s guessing the lyrics. “Besides,” she offers a smirk as she continues, squeezing my hand again. “You hate it when I call you Clover,” she turns right into the highway. “I’ll stop calling you that when you stop calling me Moddie.”

I huff and squeeze back. “It’s a dumb nickname. Its not even shorter than my actual name.” I mumble, sinking into the chair. My eyes flicker to Modesty’s face for a moment and she’s smiling – laughing, even. I sigh.

I haven’t seen that smile for weeks. Ever since she told her parents about us, it’s been a rarity – a gem to behold.

I remember when she told them like I remember every imperfection on my face. I was standing just outside the door of Modesty’s expensive home, and I can still hear the cries and complaints of her parents. The profanities from her mother and the insults from her father as neither of them would accept that her precious daughter was gay. I remember how disgusted I felt.

I remember the look of disgust in her mother’s eyes when she saw me waiting outside. She had pointed at me with her slender, wrinkled finger. “You.” She spat at me. “You’re the whore who corrupted my Modesty.”

I scowled up at her and felt tears in my eyes, threatening to fall at the sight of Moddie, whimpering behind her looming father. She gnawed at her bottom lip; I could only cry and watch as her parents pulled her inside, forbidding her to see me again (or any girl, for that matter).

She would sneak out anyway.

I feel the warmth of Modesty’s hand as she squeezes mine. It takes me a moment as I’m pulled from my thoughts, but I squeeze back. She keeps squeezing, doesn’t let go. “Stop that.” She says firmly, and at my look of confusion she rolls her eyes. “You’re blaming yourself. Like my being gay is your fault. Like you forced me to leave after my own parents wouldn’t love me.”

I don’t deny it. She sighs (she does that a lot). “It’s not your fault. I agreed to this.”

I only nod.

It was my idea to run away. It was spontaneous – the decision; I had suddenly let the words slip while we were cuddling, tangled in each other’s limbs. It was quiet, though, a hesitant, “We should run away. Together, I mean.” It took so long for her to reply,I thought she didn’t hear me. Although, after about an hour of lying at each others sides beneath a quilt, she replied. A confident, yet quiet, “Okay.”

I realize that she’s still squeezing my hand, and I’m still squeezing hers.

I turn my gaze away from her, because I don’t need to see her to know what she’s done or to know how beautiful she is. She’s still driving (with her wavy, dirty blonde hair framing her face effortlessly). One hand is on the steering wheel and one hand is in mine. Her eyes – shimmering, no doubt – are on the road and she knows mine are too. She’s right, they are. They’re looking forward to the road as it passes; as she drives. 20 miles out of town. A million miles from the life we’ve left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> so there it is. this was an English assessment task I did and I only got 15 out of 20 which I was really dissapointed with because I'm really proud of this :) 
> 
> it's really short, but if you want more don't be afraid to let me know.
> 
> don't forget to comment and leave kudos!


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